


It’s Just the Radio, Darlin’

by Evitcani



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), Castlevania (Netflix), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Victorian Steampunk, Eventual Smut, For Science!, Multi, Viva La Revolution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-27 22:22:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19798966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evitcani/pseuds/Evitcani
Summary: The cobblestone before them opened to the sun dappled streets, criss-crossed by the shadows atop the Church’s bows. It was only where those shadows lay could Trevor see the shape of a face in the center of each cross. Hands stretched, drying and rotting in the light, one twitched as if alive.A cloud passed over the sun and Trevor could finally see the corpses turning cross to crucifix. Like the old drawings in older books that would land Trevor on those peaks, the enemies of the Church clung to their crosses like horrific figureheads of the faith that built Targoviste.The Speakers have lost their voice, the Belmonts have been burned from their nests and the monsters banished to the darkness from whence they came. The Church rules with a golden fist. None can ever hope to oppose its machinations.The people of Wallachia turn to the simple pleasures to avoid the narrow misery of their lives.A Speaker, a Belmont and a Dhampir walk into a revolution.





	1. Endless Apologies of Paradise

The sun swelled over the skyscrapers of Targoviste, light glinting off the looming gold crosses dappling each peak. They were new, a modern invention rising unsteady on steel and the church’s money far above the busy streets below. Cars honked and popped at horse-drawn carriages whose undead beasts gave no more than a lazy flick of their ears. 

Trevor pulled a cigarette from his front pocket, sitting with a heavy sigh on the park bench. A mechanized pigeon picked at his shoelaces and he kicked it with a grunt. It squawked and strutted away to deposit the garbage it’d picked up into a vent to the sewers, puffing acrid steam on each breath. 

“God I hate this city,” he complained to no one in particular, lighting his cigarette. “I thought only Speakers hated it more than me, but that’s clearly wrong.” He grinned at the young woman beside him, blowing a puff of gold smoke bubbles her way so they popped into glitter when they hit her immaculate blue robes.

She coughed and glared, waving it away in annoyance. “Get used to it,” Sypha told him stiffly, pulling out a manilla folder. “The Speakers have, Belmont.” 

“Weird, that,” Trevor shrugged and looked up at the crosses hanging over the city. He pulled his cigarette from his mouth, a lazy trail of smoke winding through his fingers. The gold blinded him and he had to shield his eyes from the light.

“It’s not so bad,” she said slowly. “When you get past the crosses and, uh, _birds_.” 

“Mm,” he grunted. A mechanical peacock screamed nearby, the record spinning on its back skipping and scratching. “Sure.” The lies people tell themselves to tolerate things outside their control, he supposed. Maybe he’d come to have some kind of affection for the horrible robot park birds. “Can we get on with it then?”

“Her name’s Lisa,” Sypha started, opening the file. She took a breath and blew it out over the glossy black squares. They warmed and filled out, photos forming slowly. They turned into pictures of an unearthly blonde woman. Candid shots of her in the street, across the way. The kind of thing Trevor expected from Speakers. She lowered her voice and Trevor barely picked it from the wind. “These are my memories from yesterday. She lives in the suburbs of the city, a doctor.” 

“A doctor this close to—?” He glanced wordlessly at the glint of crosses watching them from above. 

“It’s why we think she’s in danger, Belmont,” Sypha hushed him, finger to her lips. Trevor put his cigarette out on his cloak and tucked it back into his front pocket. The Speaker had his attention now. “We speak it not again, lest it be true,” she whispered. He nodded slowly, seriously. The squares turned black again, memories disappearing back into the little Speaker’s head. 

Trevor watched them dim, not quite looking at Sypha as he turned it over. “What’s the danger, then? Besides the Church.”

“Victims,” she answered with a wave of her hand. “Drained of blood. Horrible. The bodies circle round her home like they are looking for her.”

Vampires. Just what this city needed. 

“Guess this’ll be you convincing the woman to leave and me providing the muscle whether she does or doesn’t want to go,” Trevor summarized, scratching the side of his nose. 

“Speakers do not kidnap, Belmont,” she hissed in return, packing her folder away. “If she does not want to go when we tell her the danger, there is nothing we can do.” 

“So we let her fall to vampires or the church or – God forbid – _both_ ,” he countered and rolled his eyes. “Better to kill her.” Sypha glared but she didn’t disagree. “And what’s The Speakers’ horse in this race?” 

Sypha sighed, looking towards the streets. “Not everyone has a selfish motive for doing everything,” she muttered darkly. 

“No, but the Speakers are few. Your time is a sacrifice for your people and the cost of hiring me just to urge one doctor to move somewhere else is an issue of itself,” he scoffed disbelievingly. He scuffed his boots in the mud while he waited on Sypha to realize he wasn’t stupid. 

“She knows things she should not,” Sypha whispered then cleared her throat. “Not like the Church thinks of these things, but knowledge lost even to Speakers. If this woman dies, it may all die with her. For good this time.”

Ah. There it was. Lisa’s worth was in the sum of her mind and the occupation it contributed to was actively dangerous to her health. He rolled his head to the side, away from Sypha and watched a mechanical bee carry pollen to the park flowers. It stopped and looked at him, watching him in an unnervingly human way. 

Trevor turned his head back to Sypha and flashed her a smile. “Well, best we get going,” he told her, gesturing to the path. 

The cobblestone before them opened to the sun dappled streets, criss-crossed by the shadows atop the Church’s bows. It was only where those shadows lay could Trevor see the shape of a face in the center of each cross. Hands stretched, drying and rotting in the light, one twitched as if alive. 

A cloud passed over the sun and Trevor could finally see the corpses turning cross to crucifix. Like the old drawings in older books that would land Trevor on those peaks, the enemies of the Church clung to their crosses like horrific figureheads of the faith that built Targoviste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this over a year ago. I never finished it but it has a lot of imagery and such that I really like and decided I wanted to share!


	2. Share This Precious Life with Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To be small and breathless and _human_.

The skyscraper’s shadow fell on a giant thirteen carved into an abandoned tavern. The only one this far away, not topped with gold or corpses, only a simple steeple. Its point lay at the painted base of three in thirteen. A song drifted prettily from a nearby window, a woman playing the piano slowly while a man raked leaves outside, carrying the tune of the song in a whistle. Children provided the chorus with laughter, shouting as they stirred the leaves along the shabby white picket fence lined cobblestone. 

A couple rode together on a dead horse, passing Lisa’s house and adding their own giggles to the little song. She found herself humming to it, stirring dust motes in the back room. 

The peaks of the Church were a distant scar on the horizon. 

She stood, cracking her back with a pleased grunt. Most of her equipment had been unpacked. Now, she was finally putting out her personal effects. She smiled at a family portrait of them painted not long after Adrian had been born. They’d gotten their big, clunky and well-loved polaroid camera the next year – for Lisa’s research, of course – but she still treasured this. 

_Dracula_ couldn’t be photographed. 

Oh, she could see him in the places he was missing in their family album. Her favorite picture was Adrian’s first steps, invisible hands holding the little boy’s so tight, afraid of him falling. Sadly, her son had declared baby pictures were not allowed in the front room of any house he was going to live. 

Adrian would have to make an exception for the family portrait.

She grinned and tiptoed around Adrian’s hand hanging off the side of the skewed couch. He was still asleep, buried under three blankets despite how unseasonably warm autumn was proving to be. 

Lisa hung the painting above the fireplace and _accidentally_ nudged Adrian’s hand on her way back. She pretended to be busy putting away dishes in the kitchen as he stirred with a groan. “Good morning, Adrian. I can’t imagine what research is worth sacrificing your sleep,” she called as she wiped down some glasses. 

“The case study of how the movers only managed to lose my bed and made this couch much more uncomfortable than it was before. Truly baffling,” Adrian called back, muffled by the blankets he was hiding under. “Give me five more minutes and I’ll be up, mother.” Lisa laughed musically from the kitchen, but let him fall back asleep. 

There was plenty more to do with or without Adrian helping. She sighed and put a hand over her eyes, letting the sunlight and piano and laughter and dust motes and throb of happiness wash over her. 

She wished she could share this with Vlad, too, in more than written word and the flash of polaroid. 

_One day_ , she reminded herself and opened her eyes, hand falling to her heart. She went to the door to throw out a bucket of suds, pausing when her eyes caught on vibrant blue robes. A red haired young person watched her from across the street. She frowned and shook her head, closing her door. She glanced again at the amorphous blanket blob her son had become and focused on putting together her penicillin cultures. 

After a couple of hours, she flipped on the radio [to something quiet and easy](https://youtu.be/W2TE0DjdNqI). She took pictures of each petri dish, labelling them clearly before placing them in a modified oven. It was in the other kitchen, through the wall they’d tore down to join each half of house. 

She almost didn’t hear the knocking focused as she was in the radio and her work. Her notes were only a step away from brilliance though she did not know it yet. For now, Dr. Lisa Tepes neé Lupian lost herself to what research lay before her. 

She had once wanted to help make the world bigger, to grow the world in the stories of her patients. Now, she wanted to give the world to her son, those children outside, that woman playing the piano, everyone. Each of them deserved the exhilaration of seeing the whole world. 

Each of them deserved to see it the way Vlad had when he finally _listened_. He’d seen the great expanse of the earth for all its wonder and yet that day he’d finally learned what it was to be small and breathless and _human_. They shared the world in the shadowed eaves and whispered their hopes for what lay beyond their seeing. 

The knock came again, louder. 

Lisa wiped her hands on her apron and gathered her skirts to answer the door. She stopped short in shock. The shadow of a man blocked the fading light in the open doorway, six more behind him. 

Silver glinted at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obvious credit to the show for the Tepes portrait. 
> 
> Today’s chapter title comes from [Bubble Tea by dark cat, juu, Cinders](https://youtu.be/7PYe57MwxPI). 
> 
> This line in particular spoke to me, “Just take my hand and let's enjoy the things that we'll see.” I think this is what Lisa and Dracula’s love was, a successful experiment for both of them. Two people who decided their life was better where it was shared. 
> 
> Even apart, their thoughts lay together and their lives better for it.


	3. The Broken in the Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roses don’t usually talk and these ones certainly didn’t want to as sated as they were by blood.

The entire place was empty. Nothing left behind but footprints in the soft dirt. The front door stood ajar. 

“She was just here yesterday,” Sypha insisted, staring at the abandoned house. 

“Well she’s not here anymore,” Trevor sighed and pushed open the front gate. “Lets see if she left anything behind. Couldn’t have gotten too far.” 

“Unless the Church came,” Sypha frowned but strode past Trevor, shoving the door open. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Trevor told her, eyeing the layers of dust. “This place would’ve been burned to the ground by the Church. Are you sure it was her yesterday?”

“She’s very— _distinct_. I made no mistake,” Sypha argued, but passed a hand over the mantle of an alcove thick with dust. “This is—”

“Too thick for Lisa to have been here yesterday,” Trevor finished for her, kicking aside a rotting wooden box. The clatter of it echoed in the empty house. “Unless there’s some bullshit magic at work to make it dustier than it should be.”

“No,” Sypha answered thoughtfully. “It seems to be normal dust.” 

_Interesting_. 

Trevor frowned, thinking back to what Sypha had shown him of Lisa and this place. “Can I see your memories again? Any of this place?” 

“Of course,” she said quickly, probably realizing the same thing Trevor had by the way her eyes lit up. She blew a puff of chilled breath over the black squares, grabbing one of Lisa looking at Sypha directly in the open doorway. 

“There,” Trevor pointed, to the fireplace far behind Lisa. He snatched the glossy photo from Sypha’s hand and went to the doorway. Sypha moved forward directly, to where the fireplace should have been. Trevor felt around the frame of the door, feeling where something had been. 

“Lisa was never here, not really,” she exclaimed, sounding as impressed as Trevor felt. 

He looked down, catching footprints that weren’t theirs leading to the back. Light, long strides of whoever had been here. The steps only went one way, didn’t double back on themselves. 

For the moment, Trevor ignored them in favor of the footprints rounding the house outside. Wherever the footprints inside led, he didn’t think they’d get much time to figure out what had happened here on their own. He and Sypha exchanged a look and they followed the trail outside to the unkempt backyard. 

“Look,” Sypha said, pointing to the garden. 

It took Trevor a few seconds to parse what she was pointing at. “Nice catch,” he grinned and strode over to the rose bushes. They shivered as he approached, thorns growing thicker. He ignored their reaction and crouched beside them, placing a hand on the dirt. If Sypha hadn’t seen it, he never would have spotted the slight disturbance. “Bet you girls just _love_ whoever fed you all that blood and bone meal,” he whispered to the roses. 

They shivered again as if asking if he could make a better sacrifice, but Trevor didn’t need them to get what he wanted. 

He spread his fingers in the dirt. “Seven,” he said aloud, the taste of fear and soil in his mouth. “Seven priests a day ago.” A touch of silver pierced his tongue and he hissed in pain. “Armed.” 

“I told you,” Sypha said darkly. 

“You sure we want to fuck with whoever can singlehandedly take down seven armed priests?” He glanced at the roses and added, “May they rest in peace.” The roses retracted their barbed petals. 

“How are you so sure it was one person?” Sypha eyed him skeptically then dropped her gaze to the roses. “Are they saying something?” 

“Roses don’t usually talk,” Trevor snorted and the roses, too, laughed. The noise surprised Sypha and she leapt away like a startled cat. “But I’m guessing whoever planted them here was responsible for planting the priests, too. I don’t think they’d be so tight-petaled with a Belmont if someone else had been involved. Roses are kind of a one-person flower.” 

“Okay,” Sypha sighed uneasily. “Was there anything left of their souls?” 

Trevor grinned. “Not anymore.”

“Tell them thank you,” she said quietly. 

“Don’t worry, they heard you,” he said and the roses fanned their thorns proudly, but in a way that told him they’d overstayed their welcome. “Well, let’s go find our doctor who really doesn’t need out help.”

“Yes,” she said softly, not daring to glance at the roses again. 

They returned to the front to continue their investigation. Now that he knew the fight here had turned fatal, he could see places where the dirt had obviously been scuffed to hide blood. The bricks on the side of the house were freshly washed. 

Trevor followed the footprints back while Sypha went to the one place where the floor had been swept. “They cut the bodies up here,” she noted, running a finger along the scratched floor. A red streak appeared along the path she’d made, glowing faintly. It made nausea rise in his throat, the taste of blood cloying on his tongue. 

He leaned heavily against the wall, running a hand over his face. “Don’t do that,” he snapped at her, trying to stay upright. 

Her hand closed into a fist immediately and she jerked away. The taste lessened and he took a deep breath. He preferred dust to blood, if he was honest. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think of—I forgot.” 

He nodded and stood again. “It’s fine, Speaker. Give me an hour and you can convene with your chatterboxes as much as you’d like,” he told her, waving his hand vaguely and turning into the hallway. 

There, at the end was something covered by a cloth. The footsteps led right into it. 

“I think whatever she used to be here is still here,” he shouted at Sypha and ripped the cloth free. 

Under it was a darkened mirror only slightly larger than the front doorway, runes etched along its frame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tonight’s chapter title is [Bad Apple!! by RichaadBB, Cristina Vee](https://youtu.be/9Xz4NV0zsbY). 
> 
> A very, very Trevor song imo. Well, at least this version of Trevor, “Can you tell me who you are? Can you tell me where I am? I've forgotten how to see, I've forgotten If I can.” ;p


	4. In the Better Half of Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so our heroes meet, greet and have some tea.

Sometimes, mirrors didn’t work. 

Adrian frowned at the one hanging over his bathroom sink of which he was not a party to. Most of the time, it served him well when he needed to, _say_ , check to see how the fresh cut across his face was faring. Had the blade not been silver, it would have healed last night when mirrors were still working out for him. 

The price of fighting priests, he supposed. 

He shoved away from the sink with a huff, feeling the scratch still there across his nose. It was never clear to him what triggered mirrors to stop showing his reflection. The pattern seemed random and he knew it was only a coincidence, but Adrian found it ominous. 

As if to confirm his theory, one of his deactivated mirrors lit up where it stood, waiting for Adrian to put it away. “Oh, _fantastic_ ,” he hissed and watched the mirror swirl to life. It felt far too early for a fight. He didn’t even have a shirt on yet. 

“—it works!” A woman peered out of the mirror curiously. 

“And that’s a fucking _vampire_ ,” a man warned her, stepping past the woman into Adrian’s room through the portal. 

Adrian’s eyes fell to the man’s badge strapped to his suspenders and he pursed his lips. A _Belmont_ of all people. With a Speaker by the look of the robes of the one following him. Adrian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, can we do this after I’ve finished dressing?”

The man looked around suspiciously, eyes catching the family portrait his mother had put on the mantle. “Should’ve figured out the minute I saw that mirror our good doctor had fallen in line with vampires,” the Belmont sighed, running a hand through his hair and then dropping it to the handle of his whip.

Rather than fall for the bait, Adrian stepped obviously into the sunlight on his way to the cardboard box of clothes he still had left to unpack. “What does it matter to a Belmont these days if I am or am not a vampire?” He dug through until he found a button-up to throw on, leaving it open as he turned back to them, sitting on the ground as if unconcerned. “Your people eager to cozy up to the Church?” He didn’t want to raise the alarm about his mother, who froze in the open doorway behind their guests. “Thought the Belmonts were all burned out of their nests and the Speakers had lost their stories.”

“A dhampir then,” the Belmont corrected himself and rolled his eyes. “Explains your cute little portrait.” He walked up to it, putting a finger on the rosy cheek of Adrian in the painting. 

The Speaker’s eyes flickered between the two of them. She took a couple steps forward, standing in the middle of their spat. “We only want to see your— mother? Dr. Lisa of Lupu,” she said and held her hand up to stop the Belmont from further ruining their chances at diplomacy. “We do not want to hurt her. We’re here to help.”

“Doesn’t seem like she needs our help,” the Belmont snipped, fingers drumming along the top of the fireplace. “Got a pretty dhampir son to provide the muscle.” 

“I am quite pretty,” Adrian snorted and stood, brushing a hand over the mirror to close it again. Then, he picked it up slowly, easily. He smashed it against the wall, making the Belmont and Speaker both jump back, hands going to their respective weapons of choice automatically. Whip for the Belmont, he noted, small revolver for the Speaker. “In case you had any friends who wanted to follow in your footsteps.”

“I wish we could have gone back one day,” his mother said, holding a tray of tea. This startled them both again, but their hands did not fall again to their weapons. _Interesting_. “Sorry, we’ve only just moved here so things are a bit of a mess. Would you like some tea as an apology for not having things better prepared for guests? And—Adrian— _please_ clean that glass up sooner rather than later.”

Adrian snapped his fingers and the pieces of the mirror flew into the nearby trash bin.

The Belmont’s hand closed into a fist on the top of the fireplace, but he said nothing. The Speaker stepped forward, sitting on the couch amicably. “That would be lovely. Lisa, correct? I am Sypha,” the Speaker — Sypha — introduced herself. She gestured at the Belmont. “This is a Belmont my people hired for your protection. His name is Trevor.” 

“Mhm,” the Belmont agreed, looking at Adrian directly. “I’ve yet to see a single coin, but killing vampires comes a bit cheaper by the ear than my hourly.” 

“Lucky you’ll be making your hourly rate then,” Adrian’s mother smiled at the Belmont, tense. She stood aside, but between them almost as if she was protecting Adrian from the officer. “As you said, I am Dr. Lisa. This is my son, Adrian.” She gestured back at Adrian who remained where he was. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Sypha smiled, warm and genuine. Adrian liked her for just that.

“Mm,” the Belmont grunted ambivalently. Well, that settled Adrian’s opinion about the Belmont; the nail in the coffin as it was.

“Nice to meet _both_ of you,” Sypha went on and shot a glare at the Belmont.

The Belmont crossed his arms and tapped his foot. “So your husband or lover or _whatever_ is a full-blooded vampire, huh? Where’s he at these days? Hiding in the basement, readying to drain the whole town?” 

“No,” Adrian’s mother answered, not as angry at the slight as Sypha looked. She set the tea tray on the coffee table. “My husband travels, learning of this world as men do. _Slowly_. He will be away at least another month.” 

“Except he’s a vampire, not a man,” the Belmont said. “And probably in the basement.”

Adrian’s mother did not hesitate, flashing the wedding band on her finger, “And if he were only vampire and not man, why would he not turn his human wife to his evil ways? If vampires cannot— _as you have insinuated_ —learn as men do then they cannot reason as men do. What mindless _creature_ does not seek to feed or beget more of its kind? Yet my husband has done neither as you can well see. No, my husband is a man _and_ a vampire. He will be gone another month.” The Belmont paused, seeming surprised she’d took his barb seriously at all. Adrian laughed and finally looked down to button his shirt. “Perhaps you should take tea and ask rather than insist, Mr. Belmont.” 

“Right,” the Belmont drawled and sat right where Adrian normally slept. Adrian was going to have to disinfect the couch when their guests left. “First question, then,” the Belmont went on and took a cup of tea almost smugly. “Do you have any beer? Second question, if it’s not your husband, then who else but your son is leaving bodies drained around your house?” He glanced out the window as if checking. “Or where you had your house linked up to a mirror in Targoviste?” 

Adrian scoffed, finishing his buttons with a flourish. “Am I the only vampire in the whole country now?” 

“With daddy gone, you get to be the vampire of the house, son,” the Belmont shot back. 

“What?” Adrian covered his mouth to stop a helpless laugh. The Belmont glared at him. 

Sypha’s eyes turned to Adrian curiously, but his mother didn’t even bother to look back at him. “Adrian, go to the store and get drinks for our guests,” she told him mildly. 

“What?” Adrian stood, staring and trying to catch his mother’s eyes. “I’m not going to leave you alone with a—”

“Somehow, I think Sypha and Mr. Belmont pose much less of a threat to me than to you,” she told him. Adrian winced and resigned himself to running errands. 

It was useless to try to fight Dr. Lisa Tepes when she’d made her mind up. 

“Right, right,” he sighed and threw on a jacket. 

“Yes, run along little dhampir,” the Belmont said drily. “Let your mommy talk with the grown ups.” 

“I’d say my mother is saving me the headache of your existence,” Adrian threw back smoothly and grabbed his wallet from the shelf near the door. He slammed the door closed before he had to suffer whatever retort the Belmont had. 

For a moment, Adrian stood in the sunlight, wondering if he should have left so easily. He could hear the conversation inside, the open window hiding little. 

“Dr. Lisa, what did you want to tell us without your son present?” 

“Let’s give him a few minutes to stop eavesdropping outside, Sypha,” his mother said wryly. 

His mother was perfectly capable of handling herself, but she was only _human_. 

The Speaker and Belmont were not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After much debate, decided to post all 4 chapters leading up to where everyone meets. It’s not much of a word count (for me) in any case. This was originally intended to be one chapter, separated by spacers to provide some buffer between PoV. I decided to break it into 4 to give the PoV’s breathing room. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy the additional chapters!
> 
> Today’s chapter title comes from [Make the Grade by Jack Conte](https://youtu.be/IDd43aRmHdE).
> 
> Obviously a song I apply to Adrian. Probably little explanation needed here.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow my [Tumblr](https://evitcani-writes.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Evit_cani).
> 
> Consider checking out [my website](https://www.evitcani.com/) where I post previews and other works!


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